I am very pleased today to bring you the following poem written by my husband Michael Mayrl.
Oh! Let us lament for the lettuce.
Let us grieve with the lettuce lament.
Said the farmer to his youngest daughter,
"I wonder just where they all went?
For my prize heads of crisp, juicy lettuce,
Are reduced to stumps old and bent.
For buttercrunch lettuce is bestest.
It is practically a heaven sent."
His daughter, she knew not the answer.
She did not know what it meant.
The cat was the only one watching,
As the moon its radiance lent.
The night was a fair one in summer
With the lilies brightly in bloom.
A zephyr from south was breathing
The roses sweet scented perfume,
And lightning bugs blinked in the starlight
Lending their soft, gentle flame.
A mocking bird unleashed his poet
To the crickets' and tree frogs' refrain.
A whippoorwill commenced to stirring,
Calling over and over again.
Now this is what befell the lettuce
On the night of the dreadful event.
Yes this is what befell the lettuce
On a hare's misguided intent.
In her basket the pussy was dozing
On the porch at the back of the house.
A moth on her ear; wake up night is here!
Awake from your dreams of a mouse.
A family of bunnies was hungry.
For their supper they wanted some food.
But when mother hare prepared sweet clover
They said that they weren't in the mood.
"Now what shall we dine on for supper?
I think we'll be needing a treat."
So father hare set off quite promptly
Bounced along on his big bunny feet.
His plan was forming just so,
And his mumbling were heard to repeat,
"For lettuce, sweet lettuce, I'll go!
My kiddies need succulent lettuce.
They will not be answered with 'No!'"
He hopped out the door of the burrow
Through a maze of wild brambles and vines
Then along the banks of the wide river
That followed meandering lines.
At the elm tree he cut out cross country
Up the side of the slippery hill.
Then he crept to the edge of the garden
Where he listened quite terribly still.
He was bound and determined for lettuce
On this were his purposes bent.
He was getting closer to lettuce
Near a garden most elegant.
He heard not a hound or a human
And of this he was really quite glad
For he'd have the choicest green lettuce
That the Mrs. And he'd ever had.
Through the flower bed he gently tiptoed.
'Tween violets and Williams, sweet.
He peeked out from under the rhubarb,
And tiptoed on soft bunny feet.
Then he entered the vegetable section
His personal favorite spot
And he began to make his selection
Always hoping he wouldn't get caught.
With his mind fixated on lettuce
Could he be more impertinent?
With a big hill and a big lettuce
Disaster was most imminent.
As he hopped down the row his eyes started to grow
For each head looked more big than the last.
At the end of the line was a lettuce so fine
On which bunnies could make their repast.
He tugged on the head but fell down instead
For the root, it barely did budge.
Then he gnawed at the stalk until it broke off
And with his tail he did give it a nudge.
He watched it roll down the hill
Here things turned really quite ill.
The big head it continued to roll.
It gathered up slime and did double time
And it rolled and it rolled and it rolled.
With no one at the helm it bounced off the elm
Going faster than good lettuce aught ter.
With a sickening splash the lettuce did crash
In laughing wild white open water.
"Oh carrots!" Exclaimed the sad bunny.
"My lettuce. It got clean away!"
"Whatever shall I tell the children?"
"They won't like to be dining on hay."
He had already stolen a lettuce.
Of one more he wouldn't repent.
Not thinking of previous lettuce
Of where the last head had went.
So back to the farmer's garden
Back he did craftily hop
To nab the next biggest lettuce
But again the darned lettuce won't stop.
All night the silly old bunny
Rolled lettuces down the big hill
But his family didn't think it was funny
When by morning they hadn't dined – still!
So if you only have clover for supper
But are craving sweet lettuce instead
And a cabbage head moon is high in the sky
'Cause the sun has long gone to bed
Remember the plight of our bunny
With your clover be quite contented
We all know going hungry isn't funny
So let missed meals not be lamented.
Oh! Let us lament for the lettuce
Let us grieve with the lettuce lament.